Him and Her
by Diru Bleached
Summary: This is a Riku and Kairi thing. It's kind of short. OneShot, I think. It's kind of what I think of what happens between Kairi and Riku. NO SORA. :] This time. .


Pinned together clothes, and ratty tattered shoes reminded him of her. A pin on the floor, a tear in his jeans, holes in someone's shoes, come what may, that's what reminded him of her. But the worse, and yet the best, was the cuts and bullets. For all the scars on her legs, and the blood he made her bleed. For the bullets he threatened to shoot through his head, and the one's that would follow through hers if he did.

br It was so little to be reminded of, but a lot. So simple, yet, so complex. Having a feeling of uncontrolable love, when you never felt an ounce before, was a confusing feeling. And especially when you fall for a girl, who lives miles away.

br A hard relationship to endure, but it's something he thinks is worth it. Making him happy for the hours he talks to her, was something he loved. Her unconditional love for him, no matter what he did. How beautiful she was, even if he could never see her. For he loved her for the beauty of her soul. Not just the beauty of her light blue eyes, or her flawless pale skin. Her soul made her beautiful. Even if no one could realize that, not even herself.

br She tried to be happy for him. Because she knew he hated seeing her sad. But when sadness is all you've ever felt, happiness is hard to come by. Even if you love someone. Don't get her wrong, she loves him from the bottom and darkest depths of her heart, but happiness was never something she'd experianced, so it was hard to come by. The first time she met him, she got those butterflies in her stomach. True love, worrying, anxiety, all the things that keep those butterflies there, each and every time she talks to him.

br Now... Her cutting was a whole other story. Many believed him to be the direct cause of her deep emotional pain. But, oh, how wrong they were. He was only the tiniest part. She couldn't help but feel worthless every once in awhile. She couldn't help but feel as though her presence wouldn't be missed if she left the world. Whenever these feelings came along, came more and more pain in her heart. Her heart would feel like it was swelling in a sense, like the pain was building up there. The only way to release the pain, was to give it a place to leak out. For her, that's were the cutting came in. Every cut would be another place for the pain to drip out. Every cut would be another story to tell. Every cut was another scar for her to hide.

br She hated herself for cutting, because as soon as she came to her senses, she realized, not only had she hurt herself, physically, and emotionally, she had hurt others as well. He was always the first that came to her mind, and not once did her parents enter. People cared about her. But when she was depressed, the only things that came to mind were how useless she was, and no cared about her, not even herself. As she cut the pain away, she'd say over and over in her head,' _They don't care. It's fake. It's all fake. They don't care. They're just prentending. Lies, all lies._'.

br Her parents. Why hadn't they entered her mind? She loved her mother. Yes. Of course. But... It was just. Love. Flat out love. The kind that was practicly forced out of you. The kind that you didn't want to give, but you did. But her father... She didn't love him. Not even the way she loved her mother.

br Her father was a jerk. To put it lightly. She never told a soul, buthim and her best friend. He abused her. Verbally. Whether it's intentional or unintentional, he did. And his words affected her greatly. It was something hard to accept that your father freely called you,"Ugly." and," The dumbest ass outta the farm.". But, those were just a few of his choice words. Not even his favorites. How unapporpriate those would be. Her father told her that she was worthless, doesn't deserve to live, doesn't deserve a single thing in life, and not even _a_ life.

br The worst part was, having that embedded into her head, she believed every minute of it, and continued to punish herself for living. Told herself she doesn't deserve the life she had, the friends she had, the boyfriend she had, the family she had. But it's not just verbal abuse. There had been recent physical abuse at her house.

One night, her father came home in a drunken rage. Beer bottle in hand, he bardged into her room, screaming and ranting about the usual," You don't deserve your life.". But instead of ending it with a huge huff, or a glare, he smashed the beer bottle across her leg, and walked out of her room.

A mixture of beer and blood running down her legs, ruining her pajama bottoms, she limped her way to the bathroom, sobbing silently to herself. She had to stay strong. If her father knew she was crying, he'd tell her what a wuss she was, and right now, she feared the wrath he had in his drunken rage, and did not want to experiance it again that night. Picking up a face cloth, she turned on the water and wet the cloth. Rubbing soap onto it she placed it on the counter as she peeled her pajams bottoms off, letting parts of glass spill to the floor.

As the tears fell silently from her face, she gently scrubbed at her leg, where the bottle had hit her. Hissing softly each time the cloth moved a piece of glass deeper into her skin. The cuts wouldn't stop bleeding, and all she could do was pick at the cuts, trying to get the pieces of glass out, hurting her leg even more. She got as much glass as she could out. Still leaving few shards in her leg. She wrapped a thin towel around her leg, that was the most she could do, and hope for the bleeding to stop. She didn't know what to do. And she didn't want to go to anybody about it.

Cleaning up the blood on the tile floor in the bathroom, throwing the face cloth away, she stepped out of the bathroom. Carefully trying not to limp as to seem as though nothing was wrong, she walked back in her room, and shut the door. As soon as the door was shut, she shut her light off and climbed into bed, releasing tears as her leg continued to sting.

It was hard to sleep, and she was paranoid of what or rather _who_ would come in. But soon, sleep found it's way to her, and she slowly drifted to sleep, not realizing that the bleed had stopped, but seeped through the towel and stain the sheets on her bed. Not thinking that if there was blood, anyone would notice.

This is only the most recent abuseivness from her father. And not even the whole version. But she believed there was something seriously wrong with her. But she kept it to herself. Maybe she dreamt of her father hurting her, and maybe it was her the actually cut herself. She just made it her father so it wouldn't seem like she went back to cutting. She'd been free for a month. She didn't want to believe she went back to it, right? Her father would never really _hurt_ her. Right? But... Why were there still small pieces of glass in her leg, finding it's way to the surface, and making it easier to pull out? She couldn't have hit herself with the bottle... Could she?

It was an on going battle inside her. And she couldn't stand it


End file.
